Lokasenna
by SherlockianGirl
Summary: A banquet becomes deadly when Odin turns violently on Thor and his warriors, gradually becoming less like the Allfather and more like another with every passing word.


Odin watched the merry company of warriors from the far end of the banquet table, his eye falling on each in turn, never blinking.

The victory over Svartalfheim, over Malekith, had been nearly a year ago in Midgardian reckoning, and peace had fallen under the weight of Mjolnir on any insurgent left to challenge the Aesir. The realms thus settled into forced tranquility, continuing to whirl their lives and orbits inside the twisting, ethereal branches of Yggdrasil.

The calm left a restless, burning coal in Odin's chest, fueled to flame by every frivolous feast, every needless celebration as the victories became smaller and warriors more boastful. He found his jaw tightening as yet another wave of laughter washed over the room and grated upon his ears. He had ordered them to the farthest reaches of the realms, to the very limits of the Bifrost's scope, to explore and conquer any they met for Asgard. Odin had made it his decree to extend their rule amongst the stars and to lay claim to new worlds to be towed under the shade of the World Tree. But these warriors, especially Thor, would return from empty planets with empty hands, hearts with scarcely a will for war in the name of empire. Odin could not understand it—they were content to watch the nine realms spin in place and would step down only to keep enemies from darkening the threshold, but never anything more.

Odin's gaze continued to roam over the small assembly before it fell upon the goblets that gleamed before them in the torchlight. He knew the guests had consumed too much mead already, a liquid mirth that sent tongues gloating over deeds far less impressive in his own eyes. Fandral, Sif, Volstagg, Hogun and at the far end, Thor, were all carousing as if being watchers of the realms were a true feat to behold. Odin felt the familiar burn of wrath in his throat, and did not attempt to force it down as he had so many times before. He lifted a nearby flagon of mead and held it for a moment, then tipped it to refill his own cup.

The warriors paused at the sound of a great chair being pushed back, and looked up to see Odin standing at the end of the table, smiling.

"A toast to your safe return," he said slowly, motioning to a servant to take the pitcher and pour each guest more drink. Once each cup was filled to the brim, the company gave a raucous tribute to the day's glory, each drinking deeply before slamming their goblets on the wooden table. A fresh wave of laughter erupted as Volstagg drunkenly splashed Thor with the contents of his unsteady cup. Thor only grinned and opened his mouth to admonish him, but his father's words cut him short.

"Great deeds must warrant much merriment," Odin's voice was strong despite its distance across the room. "What have you done in the name of Asgard?"

"Nidavellir was restless, and so we made them rest!" Thor chuckled before returning his attention to the boar meat piled sloppily on his plate.

"The dwarves?" Odin was moving now, goblet still in hand, walking slowly along the side of the table. "Of all the lands the Bifrost can take you to, you chose to keep order in their filthy tunnels?"

"You cannot think so little of them, Father," Thor managed between mouthfuls. "Remember they forged Mjolnir, and for you, Gungnir."

"They were hardly gifts," Odin replied evenly.

Volstagg chuckled. "Aye, wasn't it Loki who tricked the dwarves into making them in the first place? Not that I would give the sly bastard any credit."

"He was rather silent on the matter," Fandral laughed. "Lips sewn shut and all."

The others joined in, unaware that Odin's mouth had twitched into a thin smile, mirthless and predatory.

"You are cruel and vain, Volstagg," Odin said in a low voice, coming to a halt beside him. "It is no small wonder the Bifrost does not crack beneath the weight of your girth and immense self-importance."

The laughter died on their lips as they noticed the deadly earnest in Odin's gaze.

He continued, towering over the seated and reddening Volstagg. "A red-haired giant no more capable of an intelligent thought in his cavernous head than bedding a woman. At least, one he did not already pay for."

"_Father_!" Thor bellowed, shock and anger wringing out the last of his good humor.

Ignoring him, Odin leaned down and cocked his head until his eyes met those of Volstagg. "What's the matter? Silver tongue turned to lead?"

Volstagg opened his mouth, but could not form the smallest word of protest. His tongue lay cemented within his jaw. Odin straightened and drained his cup in one draught before returning it to the table. "You needn't look so upset, Fandral," Odin admonished, his eye flicking to the next guest, "It was only in jest."

"My king, your humor has darkened this evening," Fandral replied with a nervous smile.

"It has always been dark."

"I had not noticed, my lord."

"Always the grinning fool," Odin placed a hand on his shoulder, and felt the man's muscles suddenly tense beneath his fingers. "A petty swordsman who spends more time stabbing the air than he does the flesh of the enemy, flitting about the battlefield like some love-struck wench!" Odin's voice rose with its fury. "Come, humor me! Or have the days you've spent in such company robbed you of your grace?"

Fandral stared up at Odin, a memory being ripped back from oblivion. A prisoner had fallen in front of him, and he had made a joke about his lacking grace. His mind raced through faces, until one clicked in place—

But Odin was holding him down, the gleam of a silver needle flashing between his fingers.

"_Sit_!" Odin snapped as the others rushed forward. "You will not rise again." They fell back into their chairs, stricken, and moved no more.

Odin returned his attention to Fandral, a golden thread now hanging from the needle's eye. Gripping Fandral's chin, he drove the needle behind one lip then the other, repeating the swift, sweeping movements until his mouth was sewn completely shut. The golden thread was pulled taut and cut. Fandral slumped forward, his shaking fingers coming up to touch the tight cross patterns on his lips.

Odin only smirked. "A stitch for every time you have wantonly laughed at one less liked than yourself. It is a pity I could not make more."

"This madness, Allfather…you are ill!"

Odin lifted his head at the voice. He glanced over at Thor and Sif, who could not tear their eyes away from the bloodied Fandral. Smirking, he then turned his gaze to the source of the voice. "Perhaps," Odin stalked to the other side of the table, but stopped a few feet short. "I grow weary of your black doubts and whispered councils. You have so little faith, Hogun, and you see deceit everywhere you turn, even in those you called friend. Yes, there are traitors in the house of Odin. Can you see it now?" he spat. "_Can you_?" He took a swift stride forward and jammed two fingers into the wide eyes before him. A flash of light and Hogun's vision went black.

The enraged cries from the others, pinned as they were to their seats, sent a thrill through Odin. One voice rose above the others, entreating him.

"Lady Sif," Odin crooned, a deadly smile playing on his lips. "You care too much! But I suppose you must after surrendering yourself to each of them over the long, lonely nights, hmm?"

"That is not true!" Sif snarled.

"And never a thought for that one that truly loved you, who accompanied you with the others, and only ever sought your favor."

"He sought it with tricks! His lies could never inspire love."

Odin let out a raspy laugh. "The only lies are the ones you tell yourself, my lady: That you are unshakable, unable to be moved by the passions of others, but only by those of battle. You know the truth as well as I—you are nothing more than a warrior's whore."

"Father, _stop_!" Thor finally found his voice again, and the pain and rage that racked it was enough to give Odin pause. "What—what has happened to you?"

"I am teaching your companions a lesson they seem to have forgotten."

"What lesson?"

"The value of my friendship."

They all gasped at the strange voice that fell from the Allfather's lips. Before them, the visage of Odin melted and rippled back in a wave of green light, revealing the one they had all thought dead beneath the sands of Svartalfheim.

Thor let out a sharp cry, but Loki took no notice. He calmly picked up a nearby chalice and swilled the last of the liquid around before downing its contents in one swallow. He winced at the taste. "I am very sorry about the mead, my friends."

Loki flicked his wrist in a dismissive gesture, and Fandral gulped air into his lungs as the thread unraveled from his lips. Hogun blinked as the dim torchlight touched his vision once more. Volstagg lifted his tongue, but could muster no words fit to speak.

"What have you done, brother?" Thor asked in a strained voice.

"Done?" A venomous smile crept across Loki's face. "I have saved each of you in your worst battles and offered my counsel during your darkest days, though you prefer not to remember. Since then, you have spoken only of my memory in slander and cruel jests. You cannot see beyond your own _greatness_," he spat out the word, "to remember the one who held your life for only a moment and returned it to you willingly."

"What have you done?"

"The mead was poisoned, I'm afraid," Loki replied, his gleaming gaze fixing each of them in turn. "Now, beg me to save your lives."


End file.
